


Keelhaul

by MsMiaMimi (Mc_Mimi)



Series: Kedging [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Almost canon flashback, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, First Kiss, House Warming Party, Inappropriate Erections, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Mutual Manipulation and hand holding, Plotting, Slow Burn, Squint and you miss it Flint/Madi/Silver, Unrequited Love, at first, soul cleansing adult bathtimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:19:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mc_Mimi/pseuds/MsMiaMimi
Summary: Post 4x07, and then onwards 'til the end of the series.A quiet moment on the way to get Madi back.Hours ago, John Silver was mourning.  He was cut down to the core and James saw himself reflected in his friend’s heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited 10-9-17

The light filtering into the captain’s cabin is almost green with the splashing waves and ship tipping to and fro, succumbing to the ocean without much fight.  But the Walrus can take it.  James and everyone on board who saw her wrecked, pulled her out and raised her again, knows she can take it and anything else to still sail onwards.  James knows this and believes it with more faith than he’d put in any god or idol.  Just as he knows he will continue to fight.  To the bitter end or an impossible victory.  But standing with his back to the closed door, he feels uneasy.  Unsure.  Untested.  He hesitates, standing quietly in a space where his mind should be open to volley idea after idea freely, knowing his one and the only match will meet him, contradict him, test him, or praise him if he warrants it.  But John is quiet.

Hours ago, John Silver was mourning.  He was cut down to the core and James saw himself reflected in his friend’s heart.  He was half-surprised to find the lead he was thrown was accepted, tied on while John tried to pull himself out of that dark place.  But this is different.  James has known loss and heartbreak.  Let them motivate him to steer his men into storms and murder and pillage in the name of lost love and all that which the love had stood for.  So, to see John here, unbent and raging, possibly plotting.  His calculating, self-preserving wit once again turned on his captain.  It’s a different kind of heartbreak, one James is almost wholly unprepared for, but not surprised by.  He sighs, tugging his ear before taking the first step forward.

John keeps his seat, resting his leg on the desk and his stump on a pillow in another chair.  He looks tired and too old for someone who all those months ago could outshine every whore on the island with his youthfulness and wide, self-assured smile.  James feels his chest warm, just remembering the scamp as he first was, and the memory stirs a childish part of him to action.  He rounds the table and lifts John’s stump without a word.  The man looks up at him with a quizzical expression.  James stills his face, strangely happy to have caught his friend so off guard.  He lifts the pillow and sits down, sits the pillow and the stump in his own lap before sprawling his legs out before himself.

The move earns him a reluctant and lopsided grin.  “What are you doing?” John's eyes shine with unshed tears.  His face an odd assortment several expressions, a frown to his brow, his sad eyes, the quirk to his lips.

That won’t do, thinks James.  He’ll have to do better, “I’m sitting my tired ass down.  What the fuck are _you_ doing, you little shit?”  He bites off. 

It has the desired effect, and John soon graces him with the full force of his smile.  A small laugh behind his hand as he shakes his head.  “I don’t know what I’m doing.  Does that surprise you?”  He hides his face behind his hands.  James stares at the rings and worn knuckles for what feels like an eternity but John continues, “…no.  It wouldn’t surprise you at all.  You are one of three people who really know how full of shit I am.”  He scrubs his hands through his hair and turns his face to the ceiling.

James notes the weight of the cut-off limb.  Where it stops abruptly.  How the muscles just under the skin strain.  He finds his hands moving without his accord, massaging his friend’s thigh.  He looks up, expecting shock or disapproval but John only hums and seemingly melts into his seat.  So, he keeps doing so, his hands keeping to just over the knee.  Where it is safe.  “You always surprise me,” he sighs.  He squeezes and kneads and John lets him, so he continues.  Hoping there’s no blush on his cheek that would mar this moment or give him away.  He looks away from John in the chair, his throat stretched and chest rising and falling softly.  James stops.  Discipline is how he managed all those years ago, and he can keep it up now.  School his desires until his back is straight, eyes forward and unfeeling.  But he leaves his hands on John, holding him on either side of the knee.

John pouts, like the little shit that he is.  “Why’d you stop?”  He looks up, “I can’t tell you what a relief that was,” he gives James a soft smile.  “Thank you.”

“No problem,” answers James.  He clears his throat, hoping to swallow his heart and anything traitorous about spill forward, “But there are matters to discuss.  The vanguard…”

“I’m coming.”

“You’re not.”

“You think I’d slow everyone down-“

“Yes,” says James, a bit louder with more command to his voice.  The time to speak as friends is over. 

John sits up and removes his leg from the desk, and stands up, brushing James aside as he moves to the front of the desk.  Choosing a side to argue from, “I’m coming.  You’re not leaving me here.  You can’t.  And I won’t allow it.”  He narrows his eyes, the bluster of his newfound power would knock James over if he were a lesser man.  But he sits and takes it as his friend blows and blows.  “One word from me and…”

“And they will know how compromised you are.  Don’t do this to yourself.  Not when we all need you to be strong.  When _Madi_ needs you to be strong.”  He stands up and circles the table, closing the distance between them.  John keeps his looking forward, his teeth bared while he breathes harshly through his nose.  James lays a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Trust me, remember.  I’m not here to steer you wrong.  I would not betray you at a time like this…” and instantly he regrets his words.

“And when will you betray me?  Is it all mapped in there, scheduled in that maze you call a mind?  Today?  Tomorrow?  When can I expect you turn on me, take something I care about away—“

“Never,”  James says simply.  He leans closer, and all the emotions he thinks are better being hidden, roil in his mind and beg to come out.  Normally he would silence it, but a small voice tells him to listen to his instinct.  And right now his instinct is to do anything to prove not only his friendship.  But his affection.  So, he listens.

John goes still as James leans in slowly, gripping him by the collar and gently gives him a chaste kiss on the forehead.  John’s eyes go wide, his mouth gasping for words that normally come so easy to him.  “You… wouldn’t?”  James expects him to be disgusted, but John turns into him and rests his head on his shoulder. 

James pats his friend on the back, while he cries.  He wasn’t expecting this.  Shouting, clawing, disgusted laughter perhaps… but this?  He’s afraid he has ruined something, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to offend…”

John shakes his head.  When he looks up again with tears in his eyes, “Tell me you didn’t do this on purpose.  Tell me she’s not lost to me because you _willed_ it so.  Please…”  He doesn’t pull away from James’s arms while he pleads, “Please, tell me it’s not my fault for knowing her.  Loving her…”

“No!”  James finds his hands wrapped up in John’s hair, he pulls gently, “No.  I care… you know I care if I’m thought a monster.  And I value you for seeing me as just a man.  You do, don’t you?”  He asks desperately without letting John answer, “I stood with her, waiting for you on the beach.  And I knew in that moment Madi and I was of the same mind and heart.  Aching already for the loss of you.  I would see this venture through, to regain Nassau and proudly stand aside if only to know, you were as happy as when I saw you before.  With her in your arms.  I swear it, John.  I care enough about you, to want you to be happy.  Truly happy with the one you love, whoever that is.”

John smoothes his hands over the front of James’s coat, looking away, looking at everything but his Captain’s face.  But he nods, as he steps away.  He reaches for his crutch and hobbles to the door, leaving James and his revelation behind.  He stops to steady himself as the Walrus lurches.  He doesn’t turn around but holds out one hand, “If we are in agreement then, Madi is important to the cause.  And you will not impede me, in any way as we recover her.  I’m going.”  He looks back James with his jaw set.

James sags, his shoulders falling while he sits on the edge of the desk.  “Of course, you are going.  You’ve already said much and your word is our will.”  He speaks of himself and the ship, “For as long as you have the strength to command us.”

John frowns at the odd phrasing before rolling his eyes and opening the door, “For fuck’s sake, Flint.  Stop being so damn dramatic!”

James watches him as walks away and smiles, “As you wish.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited 10-9-17

Air.  He needs to breathe.

It’s all John can think of as he retreats.  His eyes whip from man to man, certain they can see where a featherlight touch has burned him.  Permanently marking him, hobbling him all over again at a time when he must stand on his own.  Carry the burden of knowing what’s locked and hidden away.  Breathe, he thinks to himself.  Just breathe.  Damn Israel and his damn words.  Damn the thought he could escape his crew for a few moments of rest.  And damn Flint for his damn earnestness.

John grips the ropes with one hand and shuffles forward while the sea tries to knock him down.  The ship, a surly old bitch, lashes at him with the odd free rope.  He barks at riggers standing idle, “Carter, Todd!  Tie these down before someone loses a head!”

“Aye, sir!”

John ducks his head as the two crewmen move quickly to heed his command.  He does his best to school his features and be calm when he wants to lash out at his brothers, being careless with everyone’s lives at a time like this…

“Sir?”

John turns and finds a skinny young man, new to the crew and probably untested.  The boy offers a hand and John ignores him, turns his back and keeps heading below for his own quarters.  When he reaches it, he feels the air change around him.  A prickling at his neck as if someone were watching him.  Judging him for crimes he hasn’t committed.  He huffs out a laugh. “That hardly seems possible,” he says to no one. Still, he opens the door and slams it shut.  The ship sways hard enough to force him to lean on his crutch and he hops ungracefully to his hammock.  He flops back in it with a long sigh and shuts his eyes tight.  Israel is acting boatswain and keeping an eye on things.  The rest of the men know better than to disturb him unnecessarily.  Still, there’s a knock at the door before he’s had any time to relax.  “Come in!”

The same boy from earlier peeks inside, “Sir?  Would you like some stew?”

John rolls his eyes, “ _Who_ are you exactly?”

“The cook, sir,” says the boy sheepishly.  John starts to laugh and by the boy’s face, it’s an ugly sound.  And he knows it’s an ugly sound.  But he keeps laughing until his voice goes hoarse.  He chokes back the last of his fit and waves the boy off, leaving a bowl on his table that sloshes out with every rock of the ship.

Another knock and John closes his eyes.  And breathes.  But doesn’t answer.

Anyone else would have obeyed him, even in silence.  Anyone else would have walked away to let him rest.  But Captain Flint is uniquely entitled to do whatever he wants on his own ship.  He enters the space and like in the cabin above, he closes the door and rests against it for a long, quiet moment.  And like before, John leaves him there.  There’s too much static in the air and John hasn’t the strength to face it now.  Above and around them the sound of the crew and ship’s rigging bangs away in his ears.  In his mind, every corner is faceted with different paths. Different enemies.  Different wars.  On one imaginary front, his own words have split the resistance and he faces off against Julius and all the freedmen behind him.  On another, is Woodes Rogers holding the island with foreign armies and the ghost of Eleanor Guthrie.  Jack Rackham and his enviable talent for being lucky, smart, and in good company.  Stealing the Urca treasure and now going alone to whisper in the ear of the new world’s most influential powers.  Billy Bones and his uncanny ability to _not_ die, but organize strong men quickly under his idealistic leadership.

Then there’s the chest of treasure.  The quiet, dull-looking thing is his greatest adversary.  Sleeping just below him just as he sleeps below the Captain…

“John.”

John opens his eyes and finds the man has moved closer, hovering over John with a worried expression. 

“Are you very tired?  Do you need the doctor?”

John shakes his head and wishes he could empty all those words.  The thought that he could have Israel slap him straight again puts a slight smile on his face.  James answers the smile with small, hesitant one of his own.  And John can’t just keep quiet, he thinks.  This man, who thinks they’re equal partners now is afraid the worst offense between them is a gentle kiss on the forehead.  Never mind the multiple attempts on each other’s lives.  It’s ludicrous.  And growing up as he did, he’s no stranger to the way men eye each other.  But he’s not the fit, young thing he once was, and Flint never seemed interested in _anything_ physical before.  The long stares and glares they’ve exchanged in these last, long months have always been mutual curiosity and frank suspicion.  But he sees it differently now.  On this front of the battle, he sees a white flag across the way.  The treasure and its terrible temptation are diluted.  His need to find his Maroon Princess is all consuming.  But he wonders if there will be any battle.  Perhaps he won’t even have to fire a shot.

So, John smiles.

“Sit.  Sit and keep me company before one of our brothers out there demand our attention.”  

Flint nods, “And they are a needy lot.  It’ll be dark soon.”

John rolls his eyes, “I know what time it is.”

Flint clears his throat, “It’ll be dark soon, and we’ll have only another day or two before Nassau, given the weather.”  He looks at his hands while wrings them and twists his rings.  “And you walked away…  I just need to know that we are still of the same mind.  And purpose.”

John starts to sit up, but Flint’s hand presses into the center of his chest and pushes him down then retracts just as quickly as if he were burned.

John raises a brow, “Honestly?  Are you really some kind of puritan sodomite?  I can’t say I haven’t met them before in the mainlands but shipping with crews full of openly, buggering mateys haven't worn on your prudishness has it,” he smirks.  “Come to think of it.  I’ve never seen you take anyone.  Man or woman, since your Island witch’s passing.” 

Flint merely shrugs, the mention of the lost woman not bothering him.  “I rather not waste good money and energy on tiresome performances.”

John thinks of the plan ahead of them and Israel’s words on the quarterdeck.  And maybe he can force a white flag.  At least win one battle and charm his way to a more desired outcome, without even laying a finger on Flint or ordering his murder.  He smirks again and the fearsome Captain Flint answers it with a duck of his head, a slow blush creeping up his freckled neck. 

If John were his younger self, he’d sit up on Flint’s lap and tell stories until he got what he wanted.  Exploit everything that’s been revealed for any profit he could muster.  But that brazen boy was borne of weakness.  A frailty that had to hide behind layer after layer after layer.  He’s not that boy anymore.  Not an orphan, or cabin boy, or rigger.  He’s not the fucking _cook_.  He’s the quartermaster of the world’s most fearsome pirate crew.  The notion to romantically toy with Flint is shuttered, not tossed away, but locked up in case he does have need of it later.  In case he’s ever weaker than he is now. 

But right now, he just lays there and counts the seconds as Flint rocks in his seat, bumping against the hammock as his stool skids or the ship swings.

Flint clears his throat again and looks at John with his eyes as unsure as he’s ever seen them.  “So.  We’re good then?”

John reaches out and takes Flint’s hand.  Pats him in what he hopes is a comforting matter.  “We’re fine.  We will carry out your plan.  We will recover Madi and take Nassau.”  He grins wide, “We’ll do the impossible because when we are of the same mind,” he starts.

“There’s nothing we can’t we do,” finishes Flint.  He shines with a rare smile.  “I’m sorry for being… It’s nothing I would have told you.  Or bothered you with, you understand?  I’m sorry you learned of my… impropriety at such a time.”

John barks out a laugh, “Fuck! But, you are puritan!  Do you say your prayers and tie your hair up at night- well when you had hair…”  He grins up with all his teeth, remembering the long red locks.  How they looked wild and free when the Captain’s inner animal was set loose.  He pokes at that animal now but it doesn’t scare him.

James starts to snatch away his hand but John holds fast.  He looks his Captain in the eye and slowly pulls their joined hands up to his lips.  He presses a kiss to the back of Flint’s knuckles, grins when he hears a little soft gasp from the man above him. Then nips hard at the tip of Flint’s thumb.

Flint snatches his hand away, “Ow!  You… little shit!”  He gets up from the stool and stomps away while John lays still and breathes.  All the laughter in his chest dying away.

“Promise me, something?”

Flint stops at the door and turns slowly, “Anything.” He says easily.  So easily John feels his heart almost break for another time and a road not taken.

“Promise me that… You’ll never be afraid of me.”  Flint scoffs, but John continues.  “If the changing tides sweep us away, pulls us in, strands us on different shores...  Promise me you won’t just see another enemy across the field.”  He doesn’t voice his earlier thought, the vision of James and his white flag.  “I think you’re the first friend I’ve ever had.”  It almost disturbs him how true that is.  He keeps his gaze squared on Flint’s eyes while the man determines the answer.

Flint simply nods, opens the door and walks away.

Without John firing a shot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited 10-10-17

Mr. De Groot’s missing ear is hardly the most gruesome injury either of them has ever witnessed, but as he and James hover over maps, James finds his stomach flipping at the odd turn.  The smell of puss nauseates him and he’s in no position to be sick on his own ship when so many of the crew are clearly aligned and loyal only to the Pirate King.  He can’t maintain any semblance of control if he pales now over something so simple.  He stands it out and when the discussion is over, claps the Ship Master hard on the back, “Go on and let the surgeon see to that ear.  Before we lose that whole valuable head.”  He tries giving the man a genuine smile but it’s hardly believed, he thinks.  They are always so at odds.

De Groot covers his wound with one hand and looks at his feet, “It does ache, sir.  The scalding an’ blistering… But we’re in no place to leave the handling of this ol’ girl to strangers.  Leave it to me, sir.”  He gives James a little bow of his head exits without another word.

James opens the window to clear the cabin air of sickness and sits on the sill.  They’re moving fast, but they’ll have to slow down to approach Hog Island unseen by next nightfall.

The dark and gloomy sky finally opens up.  It’s time for dinner, but he’s in no hurry to try the new cook’s experimental stew below with the others.  Perhaps he could invite Mr. De Groot and Madi’s young steward up to his cabin.  Reinforce in them his confidence in their venture.  And John… John can sit beside him and echo his words.  Or he can echo John’s, it doesn’t matter.  But hopefully, the Quartermaster is still resting.  If anything, James would prefer it if he were up and ready to face Nassau with a clear head and healthy body in the coming days.  But that hope is dampened when he sees John talking in hush tones again with Israel up on the forecastle.  James sneers, seeing a man once put out by Teach now counseling a man with so much influence.  John raises a hand and Israel bares his teeth but back down from whatever argument he was making.  James doesn’t like the look of it.  And wishes with a hurtful pang in his heart, that Madi were here to sway John's reasoning to something less mad.

Because whatever is going on between the two of them, James is certain that it is both mad and likely traitorous.  He has half a mind to spy on his friend, but they need to keep presenting a united front.  The men can’t continue to look at one then the other, like children, asking first mother then father for the answer.  He rolls his eyes at the thought and wonders at being the father of these misbegotten lot of unkempt, hairy, bawling babies.  He kicks a snoozing loiter, “Back at it, man!”  The man shakes himself awake and rushes back to whatever duty he was putting off.

When he looks back across the way, he finds John smirking at him in the rain.

And James finds his heart skipping a beat before it goes back to rights.

John waves and raises his other hand, brandishing a bottle of rum.  He doesn’t call out or ask for an invitation but makes his way down and over to his Captain.  His face is serious when stands across from James.  “Captain Flint, may I make use of your cabin?”

“Drinking the whole bottle on your own?”

“Hardly,” he smiles and hands it over. 

James takes it, relishing the bare brush of fingers in the exchange, and turns around, leading them back to the privacy of his own quarters.  It’s been a long few hours, and the small space of time feels like a lifetime ago.  Why in god’s name did he…

“It’s Israel’s bottle, you see,” says John.  He takes the bottle back and opens the door.  “But I think we could benefit from keeping a man like that sober.  The slightest offense while drunk and we could all be facing his damn ax.”

John almost stumbles while getting inside as the ship heaves.  Over the months, their familiarity has made him more comfortable in this space.  And James less so.

John spreads out under the open window, propping his leg up and popping the cork for a quick swallow of the rum.  He sighs and sinks back against the window and watches the rain come down for a moment before offering the bottle to his captain.  “Come on Mrs. Flint,” he teases, “I won’t tell the other churchgoers.”

James stomps over quickly and snatches the bottle while John grins up at him.  His smile not quite reaching his eyes, and James can only wonder what this performance is for.  Why an olive branch when he’s yet to learn exactly what’s been done.  And it only makes him more certain _something_ has been done.  He thinks of the confession on that longboat, and how his heart fell out hearing it.  But he needed it.  The experience was a painful lesson on just what John Silver is made of and is capable of doing when properly motivated.  But James has learned there’s a trick of controlling John’s ambitions, and even using them for his own gain.  To start, he thinks, be the reasonable and sane voice.  Be able to obtain the thing John wants the most and he will have no reason to be against you.

“I’ve been thinking of the best way to break into the fort’s goal.  I remember the layout from my own time inside,” he says watching John with interest.  John has gone to all kinds of lengths to keep himself viable.  Or make the outcome he most desired viable.  Even going so far as to insinuate Thomas was still alive.  So, James takes a page of from his playbook, puts the jug aside and makes his argument.  “I’m certain we can break Madi out, with so little men left to reinforce Rhodes and fort.”

“So you’ve said,” says John looking up at with narrowed eyes.  “I know what the plan is-“

“But you don’t believe in it.”  He says bluntly.  “And I’m not certain I can change your mind.  And you and I both know it’s critical for us to be on the same page.”

John tilts his head and frowns, “I don’t know, James.  I think we both know I read faster than you.  And remember more.”  He looks up through his lashes, “And I know _way_ more words.”

James rolls his eyes, “Are you arguing for an alternative plan or a dictionary?”

John laughs before looking back out the window.  The rain still pattering away.  He finally closes the window.  The light outside dims and casts the room in a soft pink light.  John squirms in his seat, looking uncomfortable. He must tire of his clothes being wet and moves to shrug off his jacket.  James ignores his own chill and sits down at the desk and appreciates the view.  While he has it.  John appears so at ease near him.  But Israel’s words ring in his ears.  How long before John truly realizes his own power, and turns his magic of word and suggestion on his Captain.  Takes the helm for once and all to whatever end he can conceive of and whatever future he desires.  Will James be a part of it?  Will the words between them matter?

John settles himself in the seat, grabbing a stray rag to wring water from the ends of his hair.  James is careful, “An alternative plan is necessary, don’t you think?  In case… of anything unfortunate?  Can’t you come up with something more clever than turning over the cache?”  He gets up and moves to his wash basin, and fetches a proper towel and tosses it at John.  John is slow to use it.  He stares at the thing like James threw a dead fish in his lap.  “What?  It’s clean.  Or mostly clean.”

John is still for almost too long a time but recovers and grins up at his friend, “Alright, I’ll take your word for it.”  He dabs his face and beard before spreading the thing over his head and scrubbing it.  He stops to pull loose his hair and then continues, fussing over himself like a cat.

James breathes harshly through his nose and takes his seat again, and waits.  He means to keep his eyes on the floor, but his attention is on the man and all the wonderful little details that make him John Silver.  His frankly ridiculous beard and mustache which James has grown more fond of over the months.  His open shirt, wet and clinging to his broad chest.  Unlike Randall, John pushed himself.  From the very start of his injury and every day since to keep in shape.  And it shows.  He’s no taller, not ‘long’ by any measure.  But his shoulders are an impressive width, his arms are strong.  His hands are square and capable.  James realizes he’s staring before too long and turns back to the safety of the floor. 

When he does, he hears a laugh.  And looks up to see John, hair loose and smiling wide at him.  “Are you feeling another _impropriety_ coming on?”

“Shut up, you little shit,” snaps James.  It’s all he can do to keep his seat, not get up and run to the door and make excuses.  “How’s your leg?”  He deflects, partly because he’d like the status of his Quartermaster and partly because John is always all-business when his injury mentioned.

John takes a fortifying breath before reaching down to rub at his knee and the side of his stump.  “It's fine.  I wish I had another boot.  It hurt like hell before, but nothing would give me more pleasure than to use it on Woodes Roger’s face.”

James raises a concerned brow, “That’s quite the dark thought, Mr. Silver.”

“I know,” says John with his ever-present smirk.  “And you like hearing that, don’t you?”

James shrugs, “It’s well enough… to know we’re of the same mind.  He must be eliminated.”

“He must be eliminated,” mimes John.  “Fuck, you sound like it’s not murder I’m putting to you.  But you always do that.  Insist we’re only taking care of problems when really we’re taking men’s lives.”

James bristles but he's not intent on following this up, knowing John’s trying to exploit what he knows of his inner mind.  How much James hates being thought the villain.  But John continues, “I wonder if we’ll be mentioned in the next book.  The men who killed an English hero.  The monsters from Nassau.”

“Then we must make sure _we_ are victorious,” he answers.  “The victor tells the story, writes the narrative that everyone swallows down for the next hundred years.  And I’m telling you, we can do it.  We can re-write everything.  Write ourselves into the future and change the world.  Free our kind.  Free everyone oppressed.”

John gives him a softer looking smile.  James doesn’t know which part soothed him, but something did.  His hackles are down John looks more satisfied with the answer.  He seems to make himself more comfortable in the seat, “I think I’ll stay here tonight.”

James frowns, “Why?”

John’s laugh is a rare thing these days, and James treasures it.  Even when it’s at his expense.  The sound echoes off the cabin walls and fills his chest with a strange warmth he hasn’t felt in ages.  John answers simply, “Because I’m tired.”

“Yes,” nods James.  “Fine by me.  You take the hammock.  I’ll,” he looks around his cabin, “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll stay right where I am.  Come here.” 

James stays exactly where he is and realizes something.  He is _terrified_ of John Silver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm probably spamming the the Flint/Silver tags but I can almost never start a little thing and leave it alone. It usually snowballs into a 50k word thing full of regret and typos. My apologies. The next episode can't air fast enough...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited 10-10-17

When he was younger and hungry and desperate, John learned that risking nothing meant staying hungry.  But moving faster, talking faster, thinking faster, risking everything for one opportunity kept him alive.  John thinks on all the hard life lessons that brought him here to a notorious pirate ship with a man he calls friend staring at him like he hung the stars.  When only months ago they could have killed each with their bare hands.

Well, thinks John.  He could have done worst.  He posed the question before to Madi, and the answer then was less than satisfying.  Could he ever be enough for anyone?  Could anyone walk away from their own ambitions for his sake? 

Despite the look of longing and desperation, John is certain that James would sooner toss him to the sharks than turn the cache over.  Not for one Maroon Princess.  Not for him.

And now he’s cornered in this damn room to think of a ‘clever’ alternative.  How much did he give away a moment ago?  How best to cover up the secret hidden away in the bowels of the damn ship.  Again, the thought of what his younger self would do comes to mind.  But nothing like that’s ever worked for the boys and women under Max’s roof.  Not on the surprisingly pure Captain Flint.

John tosses the towel to the floor and lays out on the seat, “Hand me a pillow,” he says noting the Captain’s reluctance to come any nearer.  “I’ll make do, right here.  Like I did before.  Better really.  I know you can watch my back in case Israel is still sore about that spot of rum.”

Flint nods and moves obediently.  Fetches a pillow.  Tosses it on John’s chest and retreats to his desk, “I’ll send that kid for our dinner and you can get some more rest.”

John sets up on his elbows, interest suddenly piqued, “What’s his name?  The new cook?”

 Flint’s face contorts in the most hilarious show of confusion John’s seen in a while.  He gasps a while before shrugging, “I haven’t a fucking clue.  Don’t you know?”

John laughs and collapses back on the seat, his shoulders shaking while pants, “Not a clue!”

Flint smiles at him, “Well at least he cooks better than the sod you used to serve.  The lunch fare was… tolerable.”

“Ah, but if it was good, you’d at least remember his name.”  He winks at Flint, “You remembered my name.”

“You,” Flint scoffs, “Killed a man.  Stole my schedule.  Ran us afoul Vane and his crew.  And gave half the crew dysentery during your tenure.  You are not easy to forget.”  And when John preens under the attention anyway Flint adds, “And John is a common name.”

John rolls his eyes, “No less common than James.”

“Aye, but I’m not James to them out there.  I am Captain Flint.  Remember?”

John gives his friend a long, slow look up and down, “How could I forget?”

Flint’s blush is a wondrous thing.  He’s all flushed in the candlelight but John must be careful.  Not to push himself into an outcome he has no desire to see through.  Not now.  And then, not to cut out the belief its possible.  They’re pirates after all.  And John would be the last person to subscribe to traditional marriage.  Hell, if the mad plan succeeds and they rescue Madi without incident, he might be able to put it on the table.  She’s young, curious and agreeable to new adventures.  Standing at his side or falling in his bed, they are usually of the same mind.  Like he and Flint.  Perhaps she’ll see Captain Flint as a worthy conquest for the future queen.  They could be shares of the same heart and purpose.  Or perhaps she’ll cut off John’s balls.  He’ll almost certainly never know unless he asks, but it’s just another possibility to shelve away for later.  And later always comes when he least expects it.

Flint fidgets with his hands and rings.  Slide his maps across the table, scratches his head and newly growing ginger hair.  Tugs his earring.  Fidgets again.

John sighs, “I’m not very hungry.  But I am tired.  Would you tell me a story?  A proper story?”  They played this game before, coaxing real truths from the fearsome captain Flint late at night when they have nothing better to do.  Stories like the first fall of Nassau.  Stories like the first love of his life.  John quirks his lips, “Tell me a happy story.  About you and Thomas and Miranda.”

James goes very still.

“I mean just a moment.  Can’t you think of one?”

James is silent.  He probably think’s John speaking of sacrilege.  And while John is not all too familiar with personal relationships, he knows that one can share their feelings in confidence with a close friend.  He’s heard men talk about the love of good women.  Or wistfully reminiscence about the first matey they sailed along with.

John clears his throat, “For me, I think it was the first glance.  The look she gave me.  She may have well branded me there in front of everyone.”  He grins thinking of it, “And when I was alone on that island, aching and feverish.  She held my hand.  She has such small hands.  But they’re strong.  She’s been raised like a princess but she knows what it is to work for what you want.  And what she wants is always for the greater good.  There’s no privilege in her callouses.  Not from harp strings or needlepoint.  She’s earned every one for the love of her people.   And she does love them so.  It’s beautiful.”  He closes his eyes and imagines Madi at his side, “She’s beautiful.”  He blinks away tear before it can fall, wipes his nose.  “Right then.  Your turn.”

Flint scoffs.  “Why?  Why in this moment would you care?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to know what once made my friend happy.  Share it with me, and I’ll share another with you.  You’ll be up two to one.”

“What?   A game of confidences?  You’re such a child.”

“I’m waiting,” he goads with a grin, knowing James can’t resist him from long.

Flint considers his words and gets up slowly, seeming unsure before finally making up his mind.  When he does he marches over and pats John on the shoulder, “Sit up.”  John does so and James sits close by, pulling John half into his lap.  John is shocked and wonders if he’s gone too far.  He twists and looks up, concerned he might be forced face-down into Flint’s lap or worse, strangled by his bloody hands.  But the moment’s hesitation only annoys Flint.  He manhandles John until he’s on his side, propped up on his elbow across Flint’s leg and head bent down.  Then fingers in his hair ease some of his worries. 

“What are you doing, James?”

James hums before answering, “You asked for a moment…. And there was a moment where Thomas taught me how to braid Miranda hair before bed.  A moment where we were all happy under the same roof, in the same bed.  And we slept entangled, and perfect…”

The fingers in his hair have been bloodied and Flint’s fists have beaten men to death.  That is foremost in John’s mind, despite the words.  But he listens.

“And I was happy.  And all I ever wanted was to have that again.  All my dreams were stolen by England again and again.”  He leaves the braid unfinished and draws away slowly, putting his hands on the seat.

John sits up and looks Flint in the eye, “I gave men favors.  When I was young.  Because it was easy to do.  And I didn’t want to be… And I didn’t want…”  John struggles to find the rest of his words.  How to explain away his cowardice and ambition?  How to does he explain why he is, the way he is, without painting himself as something he’s not and never been?

“Shh,” says Flint.  He gets up and moves over to the handful of books he recovered from the wreckage, and sits a tome upon the table.  “When this is over, I’d like you and Madi and to read this.  Before you forget about me entirely.  I think you’ve moved far ahead of me in this game.”  He smiles, “You win.”

John wipes his eyes.  He hadn’t realized any tears were falling and his face burns thinking of how much he bared to Flint.  At a time when the trust between them is so thin.

But it was necessary.

As every action he’s ever taken has been necessary.  Flint moves to the door and holds it open while John gathers himself, stands up with his crutch and walks forward. 

Just as the stories were a tactful maneuver to secure himself somewhere deep in Flint’s heart, so is this, he thinks.  He closes the door and pulls Flint down by the back of the head.  They bump foreheads and John closes his eyes before giving his friend a soft kiss on the lips.  He pulls away, hoping there are no more tears in his eyes, “You’re not the only one who cares what people think about you.  Don’t…”

“I won’t tell a soul,” says Flint.  He backs away with a genuine smile.  It might mean John just gave him the leverage to take back the ship.  Or it might mean he’s so loved that a little thing like that treasure chest won’t strike a rift between them.  He won’t know until tomorrow.

“Perhaps we should we eat with the men?  And learn that poor boy’s name.”

“Perhaps,” grins Flint and he opens the door again.

John walks after him, a part of his mind imagining a future for all of them.  In Flint’s perfection.  Or dead at sea.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post 4x8
> 
> *edited 10-11-17

Israel glares from his perch beside John while James tries to stop his hand from shaking.  It wouldn’t do for the men to see him tremble after that shouting match in the cabin.  They’re all staring between himself and John.  Silver’s men eye him with contempt.  The handful still loyal to him eye him worry or dutiful nods.  Yes, of course.  History tells them this is the time the ever-feared Captain Flint will take his ship back.  And the survivors from the Urca crew have most certainly told tales of the time he beat a challenger to death.  They five, maybe six men who still fear him, look to John and see an easy battle.

But James knows better.  John wouldn’t have to raise a finger to have him dead if he wanted.  And that handful of men wouldn’t mourn his passing.  Not one of them is equal to the weight and measure of John Silver.  But he finds himself in need of one of them.  He eyes Joji while trying to catch his attention.  But Joji, ever silent and unmovable walks pasts him, heeding some order from John while glaring meanly at Flint.  Fuck, thinks James.  If not the best fighter, then he’ll need someone expendable.  For what he has to do, the person that slows him down needs to be cast aside without a thought.

Dooley is the first and only to reach out to him.

But before he can cement his next plan, John calls out for him.  “Captain!”  He says it loud and clear and everyone above can hear and see him. Israel is dismissed with a look and stomps away with a sneering face.  It seems the united front is still important to John.  James can’t tell if its sympathy, pity, or something else that keeps John for ousting him altogether.  He nods and follows the man up to the forecastle.  The men give them space, but for a few hanging in the rigs with their ears pointed down.

John slaps James on the back, “Tell me more about this island.  What are we to expect.  I know what they expect,” he eyes the crew, “But I’m not one for ghost stories and superstition.”

They walk to the front and stand at the railing before the foremast.  James grips the railing and stares out at the sea and the ship they’re chasing.  “I’d imagine your man Israel has told you plenty.”

“Don’t…”

“Stop telling me what to do on my own ship,” hisses Flint.  “Have you not cut me down enough today?”

“You know better.  I know you do.  I can’t believe you’d cast everything we’ve been through and shared aside because… Look at me.  Not at the sea, James.  _Look_ at me.”

James turns his head and takes in John’s appearance.  He looks like he’s barely survived a battle today.  He’s covered in smudges and his face is haggard with dark rings of worry under his eyes.  And James understands what the motivation to protect a loved one can do, physically and emotionally.  The toll it takes on your heart to worry you’ll lose a part of it forever.  He’s felt it before.  He feels it now.  He looks at John and claps him on the shoulder, risking nothing more intimate in front of the crew, “I know better.  I understand.  I have your back.”  He turns and quickly takes his leave.

First, he has to seek Dooley.

Then he must make peace with his decision and what he hopes will not turn into a bloodbath.  It’s a long shot, like all his mad plans.  But he must take the risk.  For the sake of the venture and his hope for the future.

Please, he prays he quietly to sea as the only god to ever bless him, let this work.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited 10-11-17

John stomps through the captain’s quarters with Mr. De Groot on his heels.  The shipmaster lays out his notes, “There’s no room to wiggle past them.”

“I know,” sighs Johns.  He asked for every tactic and maneuver beforehand and the well is still dry of ideas.  And Flint is still stubborn and sure he was in the right.  He’s gone silent on the deck, not barking out orders or offering advice.

“And you really mean to follow them to hell and surrender all that treasure…”  He pushes, cautiously.  John imagines the man remembers well what happened to Dufresne.  And remembers his own part, pushing for a prize they couldn’t take.  John is not a ship’s accountant playing captain, and he knows Flint like the back of his hand.  He won’t be manipulated into failure.  Not in this. 

“Go back to work, Mr. De Groot.  I’ve other preparations to make.  I assure you, our future won’t be lost with that damned cache.”

“That damned cache is everything.  Isn’t that what you told us while spinning Flint's lies about the Urca gold before.  It wasn’t long ago, boy, that you were a beardless, cowardly whelp.  I don’t appreciate this blatant dismissal of my worry.  Not when I care about this ship and men on it, and all you care about is your own hide.  And now your woman.”

John sits down and calms his breathing.  It wouldn’t do for the men to hear another shouting match in here, him at odds with the master of the sail.  So he breathes through his nose and answers carefully, “She is not my woman.  She is hope incarnate to her people.  More important than you can ever know to the revolution we are trying to start.  It can’t happen without Madi and Maroon island.  Without the slaves and their want for freedom.  And don’t you think for an instant that my thoughts aren’t for these damn smelly, illiterate bastards.  They are my brothers as much as yours.”  He reaches out for his crutch and can tell by the look on De Groot face what the man is thinking.  It usually makes John sick at the stomach, the way they used to look at him.  He imagines Muldoon's ghost at his side, looking at him with pity.  But John shakes the thought aside.  They don’t have to take care of him.  His job is to take care of _them_.  And he will.  After he gets Madi back.

De Groot doesn’t wait around to be dismissed a second time. 

John is left alone with his thoughts for all of five seconds before Israel barges in the door.  “We see it.”

John comes to the doorway.  He climbs up to a side and watches with the men as they close in on a land shrouded in mists.  They’re almost there and ahead of them is still the enemy ship.  He takes out a spyglass, but can’t see anything onboard from this distance, not with the fog already curling around them.  To think, not so much distance separates them, but the problems ahead are nearly insurmountable.  And contrary to his earlier words and thoughts, John realizes he would give up almost every last man on this ship to get her back.  But it won’t come to that.  He’s confident it won’t come to that…

James is nowhere to be seen.  Which is suspicious and worrisome.  Knowing he’s below with the treasure is annoying and fucking _typical_.  Whatever counter plot he’s conceived can’t risk Madi’s life.  They’re agreed on that point.  He knows at least, in that measure they are of the same mind. 

But the sight of Dooley shirking a duty to follow Flint below makes his heart stop.  Israel tugs his elbow like a child asking permission.  “Go on, and be quiet.  Do not make a move against him.  I won’t say that again.  Just keep an eye on whatever he’s up to.”

Dooley returns before Israel can seek them out, a telling smirk on his face.  His hands on his belt, his chin a little higher. 

John rolls his eyes, “For fuck’s sake.”

“What?  You know what it is?”

“No,” sighs John.  But he suspects a part of it has led Mr. Dooley to believe he could be the next quartermaster or something of high position.  Something a man with shit on his hands couldn’t obtain before a desperate Captain reeled him in.  But he shakes the thought out of his head.  “Just keep your eyes open and your sword sheathed.”

Israel grunts, “You’re a trusting lil’ fuck tit…”

John rolls his eyes, “I know, I know.  You daft, old bastard.”

Israel walks away and John is left with the eerie quiet of the decks.  There’s no shouting, but whispering as the men tell each other stories and lies.  Avery did this and Avery did that.  The Island eats souls.  There are mermaids in the water.  How terrible would it be to eat your brothers?  And what would one season long pork with if you were really pressed?  John sighs and turns away from the island and the navy ship holding Madi and handful of men in desperate need to be gutted.  And Bill that giant traitor.  The darkness coaxed in him from Flint is quick to give him creative ideas for dealing with his former brother.  But only after they get Madi.

He moves back to the captain's quarters and is surprised to find a book out on the charts and maps.

He doesn’t recall putting it there but recognizes it as the same one James pulled out last night.  The worn cover has no title and he tries to ignore it.  John sits at the window staring at it, denying its existence for a moment before succumbing to his curiosity.  An opportunity to learn more is one he can’t ignore.  He’s an addict after all.

The first page has been ripped out but the second page is blank but for an inscription.   John traces his fingers along the page and smiles sadly at it.  He recalls an admission from Flint.  The little game of confidences started long ago, and it’s always been one-sided.  By far and away, he has more points and true confessions.  Knowing Flint shared messages with his beloved Lord and mistress this way.  He opens and closes the book, wondering when James had time to put this down with all his sneaking and whispering.  He says it aloud to himself, in the quiet of the room, “Know you are relevant, know you are loved.  J.”  He puts it away without turning another page.

He doesn’t have to know what story it is.  What tale Flint thinks would shed some light on his thinking.  Or his actions.  Because he knows it’s already happening… an impossible decision and Flints made peace with being the lighter scale in his judgment.  But it’s not true, thinks John.  Flint has carved him into being, made him _more_ , breathed life into his existence like a god.  His will favoring John is what’s brought them this far, his will that shapes the world…

John tries to shake his head, this is not the time or place.  Perhaps if they all live through this, he’ll answer all of Flint’s question.  Perhaps in some far-off future, he’ll sit by another fire and tell Flint of his parentage, his history, his occupations… But if they can’t make it that far, he’ll have to make peace with his own actions.  He’ll have to make peace with being the end of Captain Flint and knowing the man was content for him to do so.

“Sir!” 

John looks up to see Israel, with a smug expression on his face.  His heart almost breaks, already knowing what he has to do.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited 10-11-17

_Maroon Island, Weeks before the Attack on Nassau_

 

* * *

 

James watched from a safe distance as Madi cleaned John’s leg.  He’s sitting at a table tucked in a hut nearby while Madi and John inspect the injury out in the sunlight.  They share easy smiles.  She tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.  John ducks his head, shaking her work loose and she only does it again.  They share a lingering smile and something in James’s chest feels tight.  He’s too afraid to name it in this moment.  Not after their lesson today and realizing how little he knows of John.  How little he’s trusted with.

“He’s a charmer,” says the Queen.  She’s a small woman and small feet make barely any sound on the matted floor.  She knows she caught him staring, and smiles at him, “Should I be worried about your boy’s intentions?”

Madi laughs out loud and slaps John hard on the shoulder before walking away.  He only sits there, watching her move with a wide grin on his face. 

The tight feeling in chest loosens.  He can’t hold on to it while John looks so radiant and light.  They look young together, he thinks.  Fuck, he amends.  They _are_ young together.

The Maroon Queen sits regally beside him like she was born to her role.  She levels James with an even stare, “Or should I be worried about yours?”

Flint locks his jaw, a reply cut off before he can damage himself.  He thinks carefully before answering, “You shouldn’t worry.  We are all entwined in the same destiny now.  What I want, is what Silver wants.  What he wants, is what Madi wants.  What she wants, you want.  What we should be worried about, is your intentions as you pull all our strings.”  He closes his books and starts to get up, but the queen hasn’t dismissed him.  Some part of him needs a command before he can just leave.

She seems to realize this, eyes his posture and gives him a little nod, freeing him to go and bother John.

John is just getting up from his stool.  After a proper cleaning, he’s advised to not put the boot right back on.  He’s ignoring that rule and slipping it on anyway.  So James does what’s for the best and pulls it away, “Don’t.”

“Flint, fuck!”

“Don’t,” repeats James.  He offers his hands, knowing how John feels about being helped.  About being so public and showing any need for assistance, “We need you strong and healed.  That’s not going to happen if you don’t trust us to help you heal.”

John’s face makes a number of emotions, but one sticks at the end.  Disgusted he pulls away, “I don’t need your help, Captain.  I’m fine on my own.”  He yanks back his leg even as he takes up his crutch, “But I… thank you.  For your concern.  For what it’s worth.”  He’s looks confused even as he speaks the words and thumps away as fast as he can.

James should let him go.  Address him again tomorrow when he’s not as vulnerable.

“You should talk to him,” says Madi from beside him.

James hopes none of the men see him leap in the air.  “Is there any chance you and your mother are part cat?”

She gives him wide, full smile and shakes her head.  Young, he thinks.  She’s terribly young to be leading a war and seducing pirates.  That odd tightness in his chest returns but he names it this time.  Not jealousy but fondness.  She’s a good woman and John is a good man.  Even knowing his own darkness, John’s restrained enough to keep his oath to the men.  To serve the greater good in all their interests.  He and Madi are matched in self-sacrifice.

So he smiles at the Maroon Princess, “If I follow him now and try to help, he might scratch my eyes out.”

Madi raises a brow and smiles knowingly, “Your eyes, Captian?  I doubt he’d do them harm.  We agree, you know.  Your eyes are far-seeing and needed.  And a very pretty shade of green.  He tells me if I like the novelty of your ginger self now, I should have seen you with long hair.”  She touches his hand then oddly enough his belt buckle and laughs, “You must have made quite an impression.”

She walks off, smiling and giggling like a school girl after passing some gossip. 

Flint stares at her with a confused face before marching after John.

That little _shit_ , he thinks.  Talking politics and wooing is one thing.  Talking about _him_ is another.  He wonders just how much John has said as he follows his trail up to his tent in the pirate’s camp.

He finds John bent over and shirtless working on a little desk taken from the ship.  He looks up like a student and James almost looks away.  Almost.  He keeps his eyes on John, where he’s scribbling quickly on torn paper.  James clears his throat, “You told her about my hair!”

John looks up, puzzled for all of a second before belly laughing, “I told her about your hair.”

“And what else besides,” says James seriously.  Despite John’s laughing face.  “I mean, is there no confidence between us now?”

John sighs, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.  “If she asks me what you’re like, I answer.  If she asks me why you won’t wear a hat, I answer.  If she asks me if you’re a madman, I answer.  As truthfully as I can.”

James moves into the tent.  He hates feeling expose with his back to the men moving around outside.  He lowers his voice and sits on John’s sleeping pallet.  It looks… clean and unused.  “God,” he sighs at the sight.  But he doesn’t bring up the Queen’s worry for her daughter.  And wherever John is or isn’t sleeping at night.  He clears his throat again, “And me?  If I ask you what’s she’s like?”

John shrugs, “She’s curious.  Smart.  Patient.  A damn good marksman.”  He smiles down James, “And she likes her books.” 

James looks around the tent.  There’s a braided bracelet of cowrie shell by the pillow.  He doesn’t bother messing with it, not with John’s eyes tracking him while he scans the little space.  Noting what’s new.  What he’s acquired while they were gone and he was left _mostly_ alone on this island.  The tent is warm, and without his shirt, it’s musky.  John’s sweat is beading down his neck perfuming the space with his scent.  James clears his throat again, wondering at his disadvantage.  Sitting cross-legged on John’s bed while he just sits there half-naked.  He reaches out and takes the lone book in the room.  A copy of the Odyssey.

“That’s Madi’s.”

“She left it here,” he says, his voice pitched a little a high in own ears.

John rolls his eyes, “She’s never been inside my tent.”

“Ah,” says James.  Not quite believing that.  “You stole it then.”

“No,” says John simply.  “I’ve long since tired of thievery, you know.  It was a gift.”

“Ah,” says James again.  He puts the book in his lap and nods, pretending to be unaffected while deflecting.  “Why won’t she wear a hat?”

John laughs again, and it’s all so strange.  Their idle conversation.  The little tent.  John’s smell unencumbered by the stink of all his filthy brothers.  And John’s laugh.  That aching fondness in his heart throbs in rhythm with it.  And James repositions the book, just to be sure.

John covers his face with his hand before leaning back in the chair, combing his fingers through his loose hair.  Shaking it out before he sits up, a little red in the face.  “Are you drunk?”

“Answer the question!”

“Alright!  She…”  John gestures wildly, probably not knowing a real answer and making one up to humor his ‘drunk’ Captain.  “She loves the sun.  The wind.  The sea.  She wants to feel all of it.  Like you do.”

“Ah,” says James.  “Good answer.  For coming out your ass.”

John laughs again and holds his sides when he calms down he points at James.  “I’m trying to be a good patient here, remember?  And you’re bruising my ribs with this ridiculousness.  Honestly.” 

It’s a joy to watch John be so unguarded, so he plays further, “Is she a madman?”

John sobers up, “Madness runs in her family.  They have crazy ideas about freeing people and living in peace.  There’s every chance she might be.”  He turns back to his paper, “Now if you’d excuse me I have the accounts to balance.  What we owe the Marooners for staying here.  What we owe for resupplying.  We’re racking up quite the debt.  And I’m tasked to keep it all straight and fair on our end.”

James watches John add up his sums and figures, wholly ignoring James on the little mat.  He figures it’s safe to get up then, book still in hand.

He returns the book to Madi around meal time, telling her it’s a waste of time giving John books when he hardly reads.  James had tried lending him books before, hoping to find like mind in the storyteller.  But later, he would find them unopened or discarded in the galley.  And learn that John’s actually read it or heard it before.  He has no interest rereading it.  And has strange ideas on improving the written word.

But Madi hands the book back, “Then you have it.  He tells the story better, anyway.  I can only wonder where he learned it.”

James accepts the gift and walks the camp, wondering what tale John’s told this time. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the rating because I think can see what kind of ending we're getting next week and I've got plans for it. Smutty, smutty plans.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited 10-11-17

 

_Post the sword montage._

 

* * *

 

If anyone asked John Silver what was better than sex, he’d probably say a bath. 

He enlisted three kids to fetch him water and had Dobbs fetch the Captain’s tub from the ship.  It’s all set up in his tent, and he’s left alone to soak after a long hard day of bashing away at Flint on that damn hill.

If anyone asked John Silver why he bothered, improving a skill no one would expect him to have, he’d probably say… Fuck off. 

Flint was right about teaching him.  The exercise and footwork make him feel more confident.  Like he can stand up to anyone and know they can’t unbalance him or kick him down.  Even if that’s someone is Flint himself.

He strips out of his clothes quickly and climbs in the tub, gingerly as it’s a little too hot in this weather, but he’s sure the heat will feel blissful on his sore arms and back.  His affairs are settled for the day.  The men were reveling with the Islanders, an unofficial party being called for this evening.  He plans to stay where is and enjoy some peace and quiet.

But peace and quiet is _boring_.  He scrubs the dirt off his skin quickly.  Then finds there is nothing much else to do.  He scoots forward in the tub and leans back, dunking his head in water before trying to lather it with soap.

“What are you doing?”

John jumps in the tub, opening his eyes, and burning them before recognizing the voice.  “Madi?  What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re drowning and putting lye soap in your hair.  I heard you wanted a bath.”  John keeps his eyes closed, but he hears her approach the tub.  The drag of his desk chair in the sand as the ruffle of her skirts as she sits down.  “You’re making a mess of it.”

“I was fine until you snuck in here.  Flint calls you and your mother ‘cat-footed’ and naturally sneaky.”

She huffs out a laugh, “You both are far too tense.  It’s ridiculous. Are you expecting someone to murder you?”  She pours water over his head and eases the burning a little. 

John manages to open one eye and see her over him, a silver cup in one hand and a glass bottle in the other.  “What’s that?”

“Oil.  For your hair.  It’s far too lovely for you to break it all off with that soap bar.  Here,” she says taking the soap.  “Let me.”  She tilts his head back and scrubs the soap out his hair before adding the oils.  Its fragrant like olives and oranges and flowers.  He not sure he wants to go around the men, smelling _better_ than clean.  Smelling pretty?  He stays her hand. “That’s enough.  I’m not a brothel madam,” he says trying to joke while a real dread wells up in him.

She rolls her eyes, “White men are so _stupid_.”  He’s heard this argument before and isn’t one to disagree with it.  She continues, “No wonder you all hold up on that ship for days and weeks, stinking together.  Lest one of you smell like a _girl_.  Pah.”  She drips more oil on his head and massages him just over the temples.  It feels too good to argue against.  And she has fair point.  As quartermaster, he once tried to introduce a more stern regiment for hygiene.

It was met with laughter and shitty underclothes being dropped off in front of his cabin door. 

Flint thought the whole thing was hilarious and he gave up on introducing sanitation to the gentlemen.   There are just some wars you can’t win.  And John wasn’t one to fight a losing battle.

Or so he thought.

“So,” says Madi, while pulling his hair back and getting up his rag and soap.  She starts to scrub his back and John lets out a long sigh.  “Tell me more about black pearls.”

John smiles while she works his shoulder, “Well I saved the Captain’s life.  If it weren’t for me, Vane would have gutted him out there in the wrecks.  So now, of course, he’s eternally grateful to me.”

“Uh huh,” she says knowingly.  Her hands swiping a line down his spine, a line he couldn’t reach himself.

“And… oh yes.”  He sighs again thinking of a future where he’s always given this kind of treatment.  Where he can reciprocate, and wash her back.  Help her dress in the morning.  Kiss her openly without any worries.  He shakes the thought out of his head.  It’s a fine dream, but there’s a fine reason to not burden her mother with any proposals at the moment.  A war on the horizon takes precedence over domesticity and comfort.  But at least having this moment, he thinks, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

She startles a little when he reaches back and takes her hand, guiding her wrist to his lips where presses soft kisses to her pulse.  She drops the cloth and combs her fingers through his hair, tugging it until he leans up to kiss her mouth.  When they part smiling, she rests her forehead against his.

A rare and almost perfect moment.

But for a shadow outside the tent. 

John holds onto her wrist but she pulls away, “Later, my love.  Later.”   She leaves the bottle and gets up in a hurry to put some distance between herself and the tub.  She dries her hand on her skirt and starts to leave. 

Flint enters the tent and stares at Madi before smirking evilly at them both.  He holds up the side while she hurries out without a word.  John sinks down to his chin, feeling his face reddening.  Like a schoolboy caught giving his first kiss or something… and Flint just stands there grinning before he laughs outright and points. John is certain Flint is the older brother he never wanted.

“She’s never been in this tent, you said!”

“Shut up!”

He laughs again and walks over, brazenly takes up the seat Madi vacated.  “Ah, but I’ve just promised her mother yet again, that you had no nefarious plans for her daughter.  And here you are stealing kisses… Once a thief…”

“Shut up, _pirate_!”  John splashes Flint with the bath water while the man laughs at him.

“Oh fine.  I concede.”  He raises his hands and sits back.  “I won’t say anything.”  He smirks.  “I suppose she had good reason to be in here.  The accounting and all.”

“It’s square,” mumbles John with his face turned to the water.

“I borrowed another book.  Is that in your ledger?”

Oddly enough, thinks John, it is.  “It’s square,” repeats.  “We’ll go hunting and settle up before the attack.  We've got a lead on a Dutchman from the scouts.  Are you up to it?”

Flint gives him want could only be described as a _lascivious_ look, then stares down at the tub’s now ruddy water.  “Are you?”

“Shut up!”  John splashes again until Flint finally gets up and stop being a bother, taking his insufferable laughter with him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 4x9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited 10-11-17

To think of all the years he pushed her to the limits of what an assortment of wood and canvas can accomplish… all the years he trusted her with the lives of his crew, only to cut them down himself.  All the accusations he had to bare, their blood staining her surface while he sailed onward.  And surviving a fucking a hurricane, a wreck… just doing the impossible time and again.  To think the old girl is set aflame while anchored in an uncharted place by complete cowards. Flint sees red, his mind and body reeling.  What action to take?  How to save her?  How to save them?  How to save _him_?

“Flint,” says John from beside him.  He looks as lost and heartbroken as James feels.  “We have to… we have to get down there.  Save them.”

“I know,” he says without moving.

 “James!”

“Don’t!”  He turns to look at John who a moment ago drew a sword and forced James to defend himself.  His friend who sent their men to _kill_ , not capture him.  Unleased fucking **_Joji_**.  He shakes his head again.  The adrenaline rush from the skirmish is all but gone.  He might be able to do battle with the whole island, but he can’t swim home.  He’s not strong enough.  “We have to regroup.  Make camp or position ourselves where we have the advantage.  If they come to us, we must be deliberate and tactical.  We can’t give away our position.  Maybe… Hell. Fuck.”  He knows he won’t win this one, even as he says it, “I’m sorry John, we can’t go down there, John.”  He looks at his quartermaster and is thankful when John raises a hand.  Neither of them looks, but they hear Israel sheathing his cutlass behind them. 

“Fuck that,” says John through his teeth.  “We’re going down there and you will be held accountable for the lost of life here today.”

“Me,” says James incredulously.  He wants to roll his eyes and scream up at the sky, but what will that do?   Not when John is in a dark place and all too blind to see it.  He’s too hurt to know how clouded his judgment has become.  “Fine,” he bites.  “The account will be settled later. Come on,” he reaches out and grabs John by the neck.  Israel looks ready to draw his blade but John just moves with him as easily as if they strolling down a beach.

With their heads close together, John looks around their surroundings with wild eyes, “Where the fuck are we going?”

“The way down is too wild for your leg.”  He knows John is nimble, but he rather not risk his friend's neck, holding it tighter as the thought of John tumbling and breaking it now contends with worry over their situation.  Where will they retreat to from the beach?  The cave with the treasure is out of the question.  But higher ground.  The first rule of any battle, take the natural advantage.  “We’ll go around this way.  Be careful,” he points.

John doesn’t even look up.  He mumbles under his breath not saying anything, with his crutch under an arm and his neck in Flint’s hand.  James tries not to think of it.  How it feels to be this close after the days of distance and restraint.  Is John too shocked to comment or is he really in need of the guidance?  His feet are moving but for a long moment, he seems lost.  Several times he tries to turn around and face the water where his brothers are dying.  Where their ship is sinking.  But then James’s thumb rubs his pulse or his fingers squeeze John’s neck.  And John keeps moving forward.

He slips a little climbing down a grassy path.

It doesn’t matter that Flint reflexively reaches out.  It _does_ matter that Israel does so as well.  The man acts like he wasn’t seen and stomps past, red in the face from the fighting and injury.  “Fuck the both of you cunt bastards, you fucking shits.”  He ignores them and sets off faster and further ahead.

Any other time it would have been hilarious, as funny as watching one of his men drink a drought full of piss, but right now the sound of the Walrus falling apart is still in the air.  Men screaming follows them up the cliff and smoke darkens the already foggy sky.  She was a good ship, think James.  She was his.  Theirs. 

“She deserved better,” says John.  Thinking the same thought as James and voicing it.  “Than to go down anchored in all this mess.  No cannon fire or anything.”

“Yes,” agrees James.  “She deserved better.”  He lets go of John, but not before brushing the hair aside on his shoulder.  That’s only the thirty-forth time he’s touched those curls.  James keeps an eye on John’s leg and crutch and tries not to think of how he’s been counting for all these months.

John stops to adjust his arm and stretch his hand, “Go on.  Hurry with Israel and save who you can.  I’ll catch up.”

“You should stay here, out of range.  I’ll bring the men to you.”  John doesn’t stop walking, and James is proud and frustrated at the same time.  _He_ at least can do as he was told and moves faster, leaving his friend just behind.

When he makes it to the madness, the defenseless men cry out while the rogue navy men cut them down.  James saves as many as he can while keeping an eye on John.  Just as he worries about the soldiers targeting Long John Silver, a shot takes out the man in Flint’s arms.  He glares across the water at Billy. Of _course_ , it's fucking _Billy_.

He doesn’t even have time to formulate his next move when he hears the boatswain whistle.  And with it, the men are called off.  Cowards and sadists, all turning heel and flocking back to their ship.

James pulls the remaining crewmen out of the water and goes back to John.

From a safe distance, they stand side by side and recognizes Jack’s ship.

“How in the fuck did he find us here?”  Asks John. 

James shakes his head starts back up the island, “It doesn’t matter now.  What matters now, is getting the men on that boat, taking Rogers and saving Madi.”  He turns back with an outstretched hand. 

John glares at his offering, before shuffling past.

James lets his hand drop.  It’d do no good now.  Their best chance is with him leading, and he can’t provoke John again, not with all the survivors backing him.

When they do get Jack’s attention, and are safely onboard the ship, James makes his case to lead.  He takes the opportunity to remind both men that they need him if they’re to win anything today.  They both can play at navy leader, but he’s the only one with the experience and skill to really weather an attack from a man like Rogers.

The time it takes to catch up, is a blur.  James can see himself moving from man to man.  He ignores John and Jack.  And Israel.  He focuses solely on the prize ahead of them.  And a future of freedom from the empire’s yoke.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post/During 4x10
> 
> Approaching Savannah

The knowledge was gained in secret, kept in secret and buried under fake smiles like all his secrets are, held close to the darkness of his own heart.  John’s final blow to the infamous Captain Flint doesn’t result in a bloody mess.  It’s this quiet, lingering stillness.  The wait for a long journey to end.  And John is surprised by how much it hurts.  He may as well cut off his own head, as set out to unmake Captain Flint.   The experience unmoors him.  The trip to Savannah will be short.  Knowing Madi is free and safe is a weight off his heart and mind.  Knowing what lies ahead is a whole different problem.

Flint fought the men that took on him board.  He only stilled whenever John stood between them.

So knowing this, has led them here.  In this uneasy silence as the men sail towards Savannah, and John alone guards Flint in the captain’s cabin.  Rogers or whoever sailed this ship before had it well-stocked with rum.  It’s tempting to take up a bottle and crash on the hammock, but John abstains.

James sits at the desk with his head bowed.  If it were any other day, John would say the man were merely deliberating their next actions, plotting their course. 

But today, John is the one navigating all their fates.  And with this outcome, he can’t be certain it’s the last of Flint’s struggle.  There’s a sturdy cot bolted near the back wall.  John figured he may as well be comfortable whilst keeping an eye on James and the door.  Savannah is hours away, and James is nothing if not resourceful.  Should in his brooding he concludes it’s all a lie, there’s little John could do to stop him.  He already knows James can and will cut down the entire crew if he thinks it’s necessary.  Leaving John the sole survivor of his rage.

So he keeps an eye on the door and an eye on Flint.  Knowing Israel is looking out and keeping any man fool enough to disturb them away from the door.  He kills time by pacing.  Sitting.  Laying back down.  Reading.  Pacing again before stripping down to his shirt to clean up.  The basin is on table on the opposite wall, set deep into a little counter with mirror hanging over it.  He cleans his face and strips off his shirt to clean chest and underarms.  He notices James stealing the odd peek out from behind his hand, but he doesn’t say anything.  John tosses the used water into bucket and refills the basin before moving back to the cot.  There John takes off his boots and sits back on the bed.  He pulls the tie on his hair and lays down with a tired huff. 

John sits up on his elbows a little desperate to break the silence, “Are you hungry.”

James gives him cold look before turning aside in the chair.  Blocking John from view with a raised hand.

“Don’t be childish,” says John.  “It’s a legitimate question.  I can’t hand you over to Thomas half-starved.”  James remains silent closed off so he continues.  “And you could do with some cleaning up as well.”  He gets up and circles around the desk, using a hand to support himself without the crutch.  He stops in front of Flint and waits until the man looks up at him.  “There you are.  Now don’t tell me, you’re just going to sit there with blood on your face.”  He nods at the water basin in the corner, “We can clean you up.”

“We?” Snaps flint.  “Do I not have a choice is this matter as well?  You’ve already taken everything else from me.  For what… some story.  Some lie…”

“I’m not lying,” says John quickly.  “Not about this.  You know it.  I _know_ , you know it.  Just, let me give you this.  A place to put that damn oar down and finally rest.  It’s all you wanted.  Don’t pretend otherwise, James.  Not to me.”

When Flint looks up, his eyes are so soft and round and filled with tears, that John gasps.  The blood spattered on his face is mingled with the blood of men he killed today, and John can’t dismiss that knowledge.  Knowing what the man in front of him is capable of doing.

And knowing where he seems to draw the line.

John reaches out with his free hand, traces the lines under Flint’s eyes.  His fingers edge through dirt and blood but skates them down to rest at Flint’s jawline and holds him there.  “Fine.  I’ll take care of you, if you won’t take care of yourself...”  He bends at the waist, careful of his balance and kisses James on the top of the head.

John has every intention of hopping over to the water basin and his crutch.  To fetch a cloth and bandages and see to his friend a damn bath.  He’s not expecting a pair of hands to reach out and yank him downward.  Outside of sword practice, James has never knocked him off balance.  Not on purpose.  Not in jest.  But all the same, John falls backwards and lands in the man’s lap, his heart beating wildly with the scare.  But there’s was nothing violent in the act.  James just sits there, holding him close, breathing onto the back of John’s neck.

“Thirty-five.”

“I’m sorry,” John keeps still, half worried Israel will come to the door.  Half worried he’s been very wrong  and is close to either being murdered like Gates.  There’s no one to offer to help Flint hide the evidence this time.  The memory of how he held on to the corpse, broken-hearted and remorseful after doing something so vile to one of his dearest allies rises up in John’s mind.  John’s self-preservation are a marvel anticipating danger. Usually.  And John wants to worry about this...  But it’s the damn number throwing him off.  Perhaps the number of men Flint’s killed today?  He’s still pondering when James speaks again.

“I’ve touched your hair thirty-five times.  Now.”  He nuzzles, his nose on John’s neck and his breath on his shoulder, “And I’m not sure of why I ever started counting.  What I’d hope would happen if I kept track all this time.”  His hands securing John loosen, his right hand climbs up to hold John by the throat.  John tolerates it for the time being.

“Fine.  Good.  We’ve established that.”  He swallows and the fingers around loosen before sliding down.  Still holding John firmly in place by the base of is neck.  Flint’s fingers digging into his clavicle, John squirms.  And tries not think of the thighs under him, or the other hand wrapped around his bare torso and squeezing his side.  Flint takes another deep breath against his neck, and John closes his eyes.  It’s not hard to guess what the man could be thinking right now, but John remembers a few days ago, how the Captain gently professed his love with a chaste kiss.  He opens he’s eyes letting his old fears fall away.  Memories that have no place between him and Flint. “Can you let me go?”

Flint’s quiet, still holding him.  It’s not uncomfortable and now John’s not afraid.  He imagines after the day they’ve had, Flint needs this or rather… “Can we sit over there?  I don’t mind you counting your ‘improprieties’ you know.  But this isn’t very comfortable,” he lies.  A old part him is very comfortable with sitting in a strong man’s lap and letting him take charge.  But not now.  Not when he’s already plotted their lives to move in such different directions.  It simply wouldn’t be fair.  Would it?  He clamps down on the thought before it inspires any mischief.  A budding opportunity is _such_ a hard thing for him to ignore, but still, he tries. Flint hasn’t moved and John is growing unfortunately hard, so hastens the man, “Help me up, and I’ll sit with you…  Just over there on the cot.”

Flint is slow to release him.  And John turns enough to look at his face.  His eyes are still red and watery.  His body is coiled and tense, like he could snap or fall apart at any moment.  John takes all that in consideration as he gets up carefully and moves to the bed.  “But first bring me that water.  And we’ll clean up a little, right?”  He keeps his back to Flint, wills his body to control itself and takes a seat at one end.  He prompts James after he keeps still, a distant look in his eyes.  “Right?”

Flint nods a little.  He gets up and fetches the basin and towel and comes over, placing it between them on the floor.  His hands shake when starts to dip an end of the towel in the water, and John quickly takes it from him.

“Let me do it.  You can hardly see the mess you’ve made of yourself.”

Flint inhales harshly, “No.  I see the mess I’ve made very clearly.”  He sits still while John wipes the cool water across his forehead.  “There’s not a soul in this world that clean it.”

John leans in closer and looks his friend in the eye, “You’re fine as you are.  You’ll be better.  You deserve peace, James.”  He’s gentle as cleans the grime off.  “You deserve it.  I believe that with my whole heart.  You deserve to have him back.”

Flint breaks a little, his eyes darting around the room, “And what about Thomas?  If any of this is true…” he voice breaks, sobbing as he closes his eyes.  “I’m not what I once was.  And I’m nothing like what he or anyone else deserves.  I learned that when I lost Miranda.”  He doesn’t protest or fight when John lifts his shirt and cleans blood on his chest and arms.

John daps and wipes until James’s freckles skin is clean.  At least passingly.  He inspects him, and finds no serious injuries.  He sighs, realizing something while James holds himself perfectly still.  Maybe it wouldn’t be fair to either of them to hold back something they both want?  A last chance for a union that neither of them could survive.  He wholeheartedly believes it would have broken him to watch Flint die in battle.  And he knows now how the man feels about him.  He can see himself explaining this to Madi, but in head he hears her, knowingly answer, ‘ _of course you did.  You no good pirate_.’ Her patience with their kind is a thing of wonder, and John is sad she’s not here, to take Flint by the other hand guide him back to peace.  No he’s stolen that from her as well, and will have deal with it.  But at least in this moment he can do something more to sooth Flint’s heart.

James is lost whatever thoughts occupy his mind as John cleans him.  He opens them long enough to stare at John’s chest before exhaling a long-suffering sigh.  He closes his eyes tighter and goes even more rigid.

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

James opens his eyes, confusion rendering his jaw a little slack as he succinctly asks for clarification, “Wha?”

John smiles, “Was it because you think this way?  That you’re undeserving?  You think so poorly of yourself that you’d stand by and let me take a wife, move on and never once bother to ask me properly… because you’re afraid, aren’t you?  Oh, James,” he drops the towel into the basin.  Shifts in the cot until they’re close enough to share the same breath.  “In this moment, I know who and what you are and I’m not afraid.”  He says truthfully.  “Do you understand?  Captain Flint helped make me what I am, and I can honestly say I’m better off for it.  I matter because of you.  You know that, don’t you?”

James starts to shake his head, but John reaches up to hold him still.  “You’re one of kind, John Silver.  It wouldn’t have taken long for the world to notice.  Even without me.”

Well, does that it, thinks John.  “I want to kiss you.  I don’t know when next I’ll see you.  If our paths will ever cross again.  But I know I’ll carry you with me always in my mind and my heart.  Do you understand, my friend?  I love you, very much.  And I’m sure that Thomas Hamilton has missed you, and still loves you as fiercely as anyone could.  I wouldn’t stand between you and him.  Just as you wouldn’t stand between me and Madi.  You, noble bastard.”

John shifts closer and pulls James until the man just goes with it.  Falling forward and resting his head on John’s shoulder.  John pats him on the back and kisses the top of his shaved head.  There’s a long and quiet moment as James just cries in his arms.

John wonders if he’s done the right thing after all.

Will it be worth it?  Will he ever wake up, regretting everything he let slip away, for a few years of safety and prosperity.  Will Madi ever forgive him?

He’s certain, lying with Captain Flint asleep and sprawled across his body, that one day he’ll wake up missing this.  Missing everything they could have had together.  But the future they could have forged together would been blood-soaked and probably end in disaster and tragedy.  There’d be other crews and other treasures.  The neverending war as Captain Flint marches against the whole world.

John takes this peace and looks forward to all the days ahead of them now. 

James is still, and his rage seems finally quiet.  John kisses him again and sighs, “You’ll see.  When we land, you’ll forget all about us.  You’ll be happy again.  Alive and happy.  That’s all I want.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4x10
> 
> Approaching Savannah

James wakes up with his head on John’s lap.  His whole body aches and his stomach is tight with hunger.  John is sitting up with a book in one hand and his other stroking James across the back.  It’s a nice way to wake up but before he can say anything, there’s a loud clattering on the desk.

Israel is grumbling and cursing from behind them.  Sneering while he leaves a plate of food on the table.  “You two are some fucking pair.  Everything going up in smoke and here you are, half naked and holding hands like nothing happened.  Should I turn my back while you get your cocks out?  Who fucks who, or do you take turns like the neophytes do.”

James is about to tell him to shut the fuck up when John barks out a hysterical laugh.  “Neophyte?” 

James thinks on it too, “I’m surprised he knows the word.”

John turns the page and continues petting James on the back, “Must have read it somewhere.  Maybe while he was in the wrecks these last twenty years.  Eating fish and smoking opium while Teach ran Nassau.  He must’ve read all your favorites.  You two probably have a lot in common.”  

Israel takes the bottle of port he brought up and throws it across the room, “Drink piss, you little fuck!”  And with that he stomps off.

John chuckles, the sound in the strange cabin making James all the more aware of how things have turned.  John is unafraid of everything.  He doesn’t care.  He doesn’t back down.  He’s the stronger of the two of them, but he’s like a child with too much authority.  Sooner or later he’ll realize what he’s done.  Sooner or later, he will regret taking the war from them.  But will he ever regret abandoning him on some plantation?

At the moment, John’s at ease.  The windows are open, letting in fresh air and wind that tousles his hair.  The sound of the ship’s crew working to learn the in’s and out’s of their new conquest just outside.

John gives James a firm shake with his free hand, “Fetch us the food.  You’ve slept for almost two hours.  And I’m still hungry from before.”

James is slow to obey.  Its annoying to think that his upbringing has driven orders and respect for heircarhy so up his spine.  That even when he casts away his chains to England and Navy, he easily falls in line for Queens, Princesses, and shitty tempered little Kings.  Warmth and tiredness is only thing keeping him in bed.  He’s comfortable with his head in John’s lap and the unfettered view of his upper body.  John is nothing but compact strength and almost mechanical grace.  A natural acrobat that learned quickly while handling unimaginable pain. He makes what he does looks easy.  He made raising a sword to him look easy.  And walking away from the future they talked about…

Suddenly, James can’t help feeling maudlin.  Even here, with John above him like some broad-shouldered sea god.  A titan of his own making, and the temptation of him laying bare and vulnerable. James could rise, strangle the man and myth with his own hair.  Murder his best friend and set the crew straight before they sail any further.  He could use the treasure as leverage.  It would be easy to be rid of all his obstacles, and if the story is true he can go to Savannah and rescue his beloved on his own terms.

“You’re overthinking it,” says John as he turns another page.  “Just stand up, get the food and lie back down.  Its that’s simple.”

James scrubs his hands down his face, “With you, that’s hardly so.”  He gets up, doubting and distrusting how peaceful he woke.  The odd gaffe with Israel.  John half naked and tangible and all too close.  He’s at war, damn it.  He _was_ at war. And this man, who put only moments ago was thieving half-ass cook, has put it all to blocks.  Stowed away the efforts of men and women who died for the cause, condemned it to gather dust as England takes and takes.  It’s not a struggle to remember that, so James disobeys John.  “Stay here.”

John looks up from his book, calmly.  “I _just_ cleaned you up.”

“Stay here, and I can at least guarantee your safety.  For the time being.”  It’s a stretch.  And John, ever the little shit, finds it funny, laughing out loud in his face.

“Honestly, James.  I never thought I’d have to say this anyone,” he looks up with cocky half a smile, “Come back to bed.

“No!”  James is moving with little thought toward the outcome.  He puts his shirt on over his head and grabs a knife.  “No…”  He starts marching towards the door to resume the fight that landed him locked up here in the first place.  John can’t stand between him and crew now.  Even as he thinks it, it feels ridiculous.  He slows down at the door.  His hands and feet still and he stands before it, just breathing in and out.  It not fair.  It’s not just, he thinks, his mind stuck in a loop.  “It’s not right.  You have to know that.”  He looks back John finds he hasn’t bothered to move, but has book the book aside.

“I don’t believe this,” says John as he rolls his eyes.  “What are you fighting?”

James doesn’t answer as he opens the door, barefoot and armed only with the bread knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very short, but the smut is ahead


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *I think John told Madi a story from his point of view, I don’t see him leaving James at the plantation after handing all that money over… that’s just weird to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Just outside Savannah.  
>  In my mind specifically somewhere in Pooler, what was there before Walmart, anyway

Finding a small farm for sale was easy.  John had put plenty of thought toward just where he would bury Captain Flint.  They rode in a cramped wagon further inland.  John had not expected the change in James to be so apparent, so quickly. 

He sits up front and watches the road.  Israel and the men they brought along are quiet while they head to the land purchased for James to leave his oar.  John wears a mask of indifference while keeping his eyes forward.  Ignoring the knowledge that behind him sits a newly born James McGraw.  Breathing air in the world once again after being buried for so long.

And this James only has eyes for Thomas Hamilton.

And by all rights, this is as it should be, thinks John.  It’s his own design.  He meant for this happen, and should be able to stand the outcome.  James Flint will live happily.  Madi will be safe.  It’s all that matters.  He tells himself, again and again.  It _was_ worth it.

“I’m sorry,” says Thomas.  John’s not used to hearing ghosts and the voice suddenly breaking their uneasy silence unnerves him.  He turns and gives the man his full attention.  There in the back, sitting close, if not nearly in James’s lap, is Sir Thomas Hamilton.  Whatever John had imagined since learning of his existence, it wasn’t this.  A tall man, as big and broad as Billy, with shoulders strong from his field work.  Dirty from the ground he dug and tan skin worn from the sun.  John had always imagined… he supposes someone more effete, soft and easily broken.  Another island witch, perhaps. Whatever Thomas has been through in the last ten years, was not enough to break him.  Thomas shines with a strength John’s not sure he’s ever seen before.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, sir.”

Thomas smiles, “No I mean earlier.  We’ve all bypassed proper introductions.  It was rude of me, not to say a word to the men who’ve paid for my freedom.  For that, I am sorry.  Mr…”

“Silver,” answers John.  “And believe me, there’s nothing to forgive.  I’m glad of your freedom.  And my friend’s future happiness.”  He looks at James and wonders if he believes the story _now_ , seeing and holding Thomas alive and well.  James avoids his eyes.  And John has to look away.  He stares at the road, while he addresses Thomas.  “So don’t bother thanking me, sir. I’m acting for my own benefit.”

Thomas could drop the matter, but he doesn’t.  Just as they reach the little farm, and the men exit the wagon, Thomas moves forward and wraps John in a surprising hug.  He kisses the side of John’s head with comfortable familiarity and backs away smiling.  “All the same, sir.  I do thank you.”

John pretends the exchange doesn’t reach in his chest and yanks at his heart.  He huffs and makes haste to lead them all to the house.  Israel stays on the porch while the other men wander around, poking at anything not tied down like the pirates they are.  The little house has two bedrooms and two beds, a small kitchen and small dining room with an uneven round table.

Thomas walks through the little house and returns with a wide smile.  “Is this ours, James?”

John answers for him, “It is yours.  Your land, your pecans, your chickens, your cow.”  He smiles, “And your house.  I’m sorry it’s so small.”

James speaks for the first time since leaving the plantation, “And this is my coffin?”

“James,” says Thomas in a warning tone.  “It’s not a coffin.  It’s an olive branch.”

James sits in an old wicker chair, quiet again like there’s nothing more to say.

John would leave them now, but Thomas surprises him again.  “It’s a long trip back to the sea, is it not?”  He smiles at John before disappearing into the kitchen.  He reappears with a bottle of wine.  “Can we not celebrate this happy reunion?  You and your men should stay and rest before heading out.  Offering you hospitality, is the least I can do.  Please, say yes.”

John sighs and imagines the men out there mucking the place up with their rough mannerisms.  He knows how much James hated having them in the Barlow house, “We should leave now.”

Thomas’s face falls, “I see.”  He looks between James and John, a question clearly on the tip of his tongue.  But he doesn’t ask.  “Then farewell, Mr. Silver.”

John turns quickly to the door, calling the men.  “We’re leaving!”

“Wait,” calls James.   Everyone else stops.  But John keeps moving.  James follows him to the wagon, “I said wait.”

“I don’t take orders from you anymore, Captain.”  He moves as fast he can.  The shade of the trees does nothing to abate the heat.  And the layers he’s wearing aren’t helping things as he hurries to the side of the wagon and throws his crutch up on the seat. 

James catches just at it’s the side and grabs his arm.  “Don’t run.”

“I can’t.”  admits John.  “I can’t stay and watch you start your new life.  Not even for a night.  You’re already lost to me, I can’t watch the ghost of you move around like its cost me nothing.  It cost me everything,” he voice hitches.  “Just…. Be well, James.  Take care of him.  Take care of this stupid farm.  And be free here for as long as you can.”  He tries to turn away and climb up, but James yanks his arm.

John is pulled into a hug.  “Stay,” whispers James.  Just the night.”

John wants to say no and escape back to the sea. 

But he finds himself nodding instead.

* * *

 

The others with them elect to go into town.  Urged by Israel to take in a local brothel while they wait out John’s ‘Blasted Sentiment’.

The afternoon hours crawl by slowly.  John helps Thomas when asked to move things they packed in the wagon from room to room.  A few of Thomas’s things from the plantation and a trunk of James’s things from the ship.  He volunteers to cook, only to learn Thomas would like one of the chickens in the yard. 

James quietly takes the duty, knowing John doesn’t know how to pluck, skin, or kill a live chicken.  Much less, cook the damn thing.

When planning this little house, John had a number things set up.  Some basics like clothes and food set aside.  Most of the house was already furnished by whatever settlers were scared off by the Creeks and Cherokee.  But John’s sure James and Thomas will get along fine here.  If anything, they’ll openly side with the natives against colonial rule, and that’s…. a matter for another day.

John tries to give them space, but Thomas seeks him out.  Smiles at him.  Thanks him, more than once.  He’s open and optimistic and already making new plans for the future.  When he learns of his wife’s passing he mentions her again and again, as if he’s consulting her.  Would Miranda approve us painting the kitchen green?  What would Miranda plant in front of the house?  Miranda would love these trees…  At times, he seems to wait for her answer before proceeding.  Just as John wonders if years in a mental institution and isolation at that plantation has really rubbed his mind raw, Thomas comes inside with a handful of wild flowers and tears in his eyes.  John reaches out, pats him on the shoulder and simply lets the man grieve while he takes in his new surroundings.

James is hardly seen at all until it grows dark outside.  He emerges from the kitchen with a pot of chicken stewed with fresh vegetables.  He’s sits down without announcing his efforts are done.  The aroma is enough to pull John and Thomas to the little round dining table.  Its wobbles though Thomas has but rock under the short leg.

“I’d almost forgotten your secret talent,” smiles Thomas. “Is there much opportunity out on sea to enjoy this wonder?  James is a marvel with spices.”  He throws James a proud look and grins, wildly.  He plates his own dish before digging in, a little roughly for a lord.

John blinks at the sight before following his lead and pouring his own stew over a plate of rice.  “Not really,” he answers.  “He has tried to impart some of his wisdom on me.  I’m afraid I was poor student.”

“You were an excellent student,” says James grimly, “When it suited you.”

John bows his head, almost shamed by the words.  “Yes.  I’ve never said otherwise.  Have I?  I know what I am, and I told you as much.”

Thomas looks between them and the tension in the air, “Well, I can’t say I understand.  But I appreciate you, whatever you are.”  He smiles broadly, “And thank you again.”

John discomfort with being in their company wears away after sharing good food and drink, and having the warmth of Thomas’s smile shine on him.  Thomas raises his cup and snaps his fingers, “You!”  He says while almost climbing over James, “I know you!”

John looks nervously between them, and starts to back away from the table.  James doesn’t seem to be bothered by Thomas drunken accusation.  In fact, for the first time that evening, he smiles.  This only makes John more nervous.  Has word of Long John Silver the Nassau Pirate King reached the prisoner bunk houses of that estate?  He puts down his spoon and starts to leave.  But James grabs him by the wrist and looks up smirking, “Don’t.”

John pulls away but sits back down, “I think I should be going.”

“I bet you play the harpsichord!  Don’t you?”  Thomas almost drops his cup, swinging it wildly and spilling the contents on James’s shirt.

John grins at them both, James trying to wrangle his drunken paramour while the man insist he’s fine and in full control of his limbs.  It’s heartwarming, and helps loosen the vice in his chest.  Just a little.  So he answers the odd, random question truthfully “…yes.”

James turns to him.  “What?”

“Yes.  And several other instruments besides.  It doesn’t matter.  I’m out of practice.”

Thomas slams his hand on the table, “We’ll have to get one!  Before your next visit!  Won’t we, James.”

James looks at John like he’s never seen him before and slowly nods.  “Yes.  I suppose so.  But I think you’ve had enough.”  He turns back to Thomas.  “It’s time for bed, my darling.”  He gets up and pulls Thomas to his feet.  There’s a bit of a struggle and Thomas explains he hasn’t had drop of alcohol in years, but he thinks he’s holding up very well.  James and John share a look and quietly disagree with his assessment.

John plans on slipping away from the little house while they’re gone, but he finds himself sitting on the front porch.  He sits on a long comfortable bench just under the window.  And makes peace with the fact he’ll never set foot on this land again.  He’ll never see James again.  He sees himself back on Maroon island explaining this to Madi and her mother.  Having the war halted for selfish reasons.  But it’s like his leg, he reasons.  A pain he’ll have to contend with on his own.  He’s not happy by any stretch.  But today he met a remarkable character from Flint’s past.  Set his friend up to live a good life.  Whereas only days ago, they could have all been dead or dying on a uncharted island.  This is something, at least.  A future.

He starts to get up, idly wondering if he could find a ride into Savannah, when he hears bootsteps on the porch.  James joins him, sitting close by and staring at is feet.

“Thomas would like to know if you’re coming inside to share our bed.  He thinks you carry Miranda’s spirit and finds it quite agreeable.”

John can’t tell if James is teasing or not.  He cracks half smile, “I was only joking about the harpsichord,” he starts.

“No.  That’s one of the first true things you’ve ever told me.  Don’t take it back now.”  His top lip curls in disgust, sneering, “What would be the point?  Am I to judge you for harshly for playing scales or for abandoning the cause?  For fucks, sake.”

John looks down at his own foot, “For what it’s worth…”

“Thank you.”  Says James.  John is shocked into silence and looks up quickly as the man repeats it.  “Thank you, for returning him to me.  And I will miss you.  You know that, don’t you?”

John shrugs, uncomfortable that the air between them is still full of so much _something_ while poor Thomas sleeps off his drink.  It brings to mind what he offered on the ship.  Instead of taking it, Flint happily walked out and got kicked in the gut by Israel before the crew jumped him and tied him down to the mast.  “Aren’t you tired yet?  This has been a tiresome journey.  I would think you’d go in there and finally lay your head down.”

James raises his hand slowly, runs his fingers gently down John’s hair before withdrawing.  “My head and heart are in two places at once.  I can see the point where I started, and where I ended.  And even where I will go.  And I can’t for the life of me disconnect any of it.”  He keeps his hands to himself and mutters, “Thirty-six… or thirty-seven?”

John smiles softly, “You slept wildly on the ship.  There was some hair pulling until I untangled us and sat up… I say you’d lost count at that point.”

“Ah well, I won’t bother again.”  He turns into John and raises his hand again.  “Can I kiss you goodbye?”

John falls forward, surprising himself with the answer.  Kissing Flint hard on the mouth after everything they’ve been through.  What a strange passion has brewed between them he thinks, and stranger still to know they’ll never get another moment like this.  He pulls away just to whisper, “Are you asking me now?”

“Do I have to?”

“Shut up,” says John a little angry that they came to this point so late.  So much time wasted.

The kiss is rushed and quiet.  James nipping at John’s lips and tongue while John does his best to get out of his coat.  He’s not prepared to find James’s hands insistently tugging at his belt.  But he follows his lead.  It doesn’t go farther than that, once satisfied that both their belts are gone James only kisses his neck and face.  Breathes in deeply just under his ear and holds him.  The open air isn’t a deterrent, the stars witnessing this isn’t shameful.  Even knowing Thomas is nearby does little to stop the want and need piloting John, numbing his guilt long enough to feel everything else.

James is tender and reverent and careful.  Like that first gentle kiss, he treats John like a porcelain cup.  He slows them down, adjusts so John is more comfortable.  He pauses to take off his own boots and brings up John’s leg to do the same.  John lets him lead in this regard, “I have not done this in… a very, very long time.”

“Neither have I,” says James.  “But I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“You would hesitate to hurt me,” smirks John.  “…but you’d hurt me anyway.”

“No,” says James with his voice cracking.  “No.  I’d have fallen on my sword back there.  When I couldn’t convince you and I didn’t believe there was anything… no.  I really couldn’t.”

And that’s just too much for John.  He already knows what he put James through and he corner he put him in.  All his counter-plotting and pretending while the thing between them went unanswered.  He nods, “I sorry,” he says again.  “For everything.  For not telling you sooner.  For attacking and stealing.  And Joji,” Flint takes his him by he hand bites his thumb.  John lets him, its barely a nip, and hardly what he pulled before.  And realizes that more than self-doubt has been holding James back from taking him.  His former Captain knows his mind all too well, and always has.  “I’m sorry for considering this… as an ace up my sleeve.  I’m sorry.”  He starts but James kisses the words out his mouth.

“Quiet now.  Just this once follow my exact orders, all right?”

John nods.  Believing he could behave for at least a little while.

"Good.  Now Lie back."

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The next story is two timelines, Flint’s perspective in the present (post series, pre-Treasure Island_ and John’s perspective in the past. That fucking backstory.

The smell of grass is sweet and earthy on the air.  With the dim evening light casting shadows through the tree limbs on the solid earth beneath his feet, James feels transported in every way.  Everything is alien here.  Even this one last familiar thing, his indomitable quartermaster.  So changed from that untested, untrustworthy young man from all those months ago.

James wonders at John’s history again while he undresses him.  He skin was smooth and unbroken before he was quartermaster.  Whatever work he did as a rigger hadn’t roughed his hands with rope burns.  He claimed he worked on merchant ships, _but_ didn’t know how to fight.  He hated pain, but he could take a punch.  His smile never reached his eyes.  He was fast, small, lethally efficient with his movement when he determined there was no choice but to kill.  James removes all the layers that make up Long John Silver.  Leaving just a young man, baring fresh few new scars, on a strong and wide chest.  He drags his fingers from Silver’s collarbone to his navel, delighted that the man listens.  He stays put and quiet.

It’s strange now to think of his first impressions of John, conniving and stealing his way on board the Walrus.  James kneels up on the bench, sitting between John’s legs while he lays kisses down his neck and chest.  All those other things he kept count of, before he knew better.  Every time John impressed him.  Every time John met him on their imaginary chess board, bettered him, toppled him.  He kisses John for every time he thought less of the man, discounted him, ignored him.  Every time he couldn’t help but notice.  John was always posturing or smiling.  Looking so damn beautiful and out place.  His apron stained with one failing after another and his mouth spewing lies.  The little shit, thinks James.  He bites John’s left nipple, remembering the chase in the wrecks.

“OW!”

James quickly covers his mouth, “I thought you were going to follow orders?”

John frowns at him.  James slides his hand away to pull John’s hair.  John simply bites off, “Aye, Captain.”

James can’t help smirking and leans up to kiss John on the lips.  He can’t count the number times he imagined having the younger man under him, or on top of him.  Having him at all.  In any and every way.  But the feelings tormented him.  They were always mixed with guilt and fear.  Guilt over Thomas and Miranda, guilt over wanting anything outside of what they promised him.  And fear over losing someone else.  John had pegged that easily, read him like an open book and exploited the knowledge.  And James was lost, unable to do anything but let him.

But here he is, surprising James once again.  He’s taken one future from them and almost magically willed another of his own making into being.  An impossible victory conjured out of nothing but speculation.

And James is in awe of his potential.  And brokenhearted to know he’ll never see the full scope of John now.  Never know what really drives him.  He’s musings render him motionless, hovering over John’s body and staring down with a frown.

John lets him for a long while before sitting up on his elbows, “You’re overthinking it again.  I’m already here.  I’m very much willing… but if…”  He looks down at his leg, “If you don’t want to see…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says James.  He moves John’s hand away, “I love every inch of you.”

John goes very still and James can’t blame him.  He’s not one to use those words lightly, but there they are, out in the open.  John’s called him friend and they’ve spoken of love.  But James was still reticent to say as much. 

John gives him a soft smile and lies back down, “Aye, Captain.”  The words are husky, and his eyes are dark with arousal.  James can’t say it doesn’t have a direct effect.  He readjusts himself, not quite ready for his hardening cock to enter the picture.  He cants his hips sideways and stretches out on the bench. 

John closes his eyes, his breathing gets heavier and heavier.  “Mmmm,” he moans when James brushes alongside his cock.  “Again.”

“What’s your name?”

John’s eyes snap open and looks up at James like he was punched in the chest, “Oh no, you wouldn’t!”

James shrugs, smirks a little while brushes John’s thing, tugging the pants down slowly.  “You could always lie or make something up.  Something like John Silver.”

“That is very much my name,” snaps John.  He groans and arches into every slight touch.  “And you’re a dirty, old bastard.”

“You called me a puritan’s wife.”

“I was very wrong.  You’re the fucking devil, ah…” He gasps when James finally frees his cock.

James repeats the question, “What’s your name?”

John bites the heel of his hand, his eyes closed and body squirming on the seat.  “Fuck you.”

“No,” smirks James.  “Not until you answer.”

“Joao…”  It’s such a small word, whispered like John’s afraid someone will hear it on the wind.  He holds his hands close to his chest and opens his eyes.  James didn’t want to weigh down the little time they had left together with such confessions, so he didn’t press.  But he branded the name in his heart and mind.  So, John Silver was once a boy called Joao…

He shakes his head, “That’s still just _John_ ,” he says carelessly.  “I wasn’t born yesterday.”  He kisses John on the forehead, “You little shit.  Never mind.”

John huffs out a sad, desperate laugh.  “Fine believe what you want.  I’m just a little shit.”

James nods, “Absolutely.  And here I am, loving you anyway.”  He grins before kissing away whatever torment he just dredged up in John with that single name.  “And all that matters is that I know you now.  Even if it’s for the last time.”

John shakes out a breath, “You are doing such wonders for my cock.  Truly, you missed a second calling as a first-rate whore.  Men should be lining up to cry on your bed,” he laughs at his own joke while James rolls his eyes.  “Stop talking and come here.”

“Is that an order from Long John Silver?” he articulates the name pointedly, every syllable until John looks strong again.  John nods up at him while pulling James down by the shoulders.  They move together until James is on top, and giving John a way to seek friction.  Grinding his hips down while holding John’s left leg up, James gets them both hard again quickly.

John squirms under him, “Take off something, you wretched man.  Please.  Hurry.  Fuck…” he sighs when James moves just right, lining their cocks side by side.  “No, no, no,” he mutters pushing James away.  “Not like this.  Come on, take off something!” he grabs James by the neck and pulls until they’re bumping foreheads.  “You’re an awful, terrible man.  And I shouldn’t let you drive me crazy, but I do.”

James kisses him, before quietly acquiescing.  Sitting back to strip off his shirt.  When comes forward again, John pulls down his breeches.  He kicks them off to join John’s on the floor.  The shock of cool night air is quickly covered by John’s hands, warm and insistent.  John brushes his fingers down James’s belly, and takes his cock in hand.  He hums while wrapping is fingers around it and James almost comes from the contact alone.

A mischievous smile spreads on John’s face and he sits up enough for Flint straddle his lap while he works the both of them with one hand.  James has to bite down on his own hand when John starts talking again.  “Imagine if we had done this sooner.  Did you think about me a year ago?  Two years ago?  Those early days when I was scared and helpless…”

James barks out a surprised laugh, “You?  Helpless?”

“Aye, captain.”  John smirks again, holding their cocks tighter, rubbing his thumb around the heads.  James melts into his arms and that encourages him.  “I was completely at your mercy.  What if I ever had the courage to sneak past Randal and Billy and Gates.  Walked right into your cabin and kneeled down at your feet, mouth open…”

“Oh god,” James covers John’s mouth with his left hand while his left hand finds their cocks.  He wraps his fingers John’s and squeezes.  “Fuck, John.”

James can feel John smirking against his hand.  It’d be wiser to keep him quiet, but he moves his hand, slides it down to hold John by the throat.  John only finds this more agreeable, smiling brightly while letting go of their cocks.  He pulls and them both down, “Come on, I want you.  Come inside me.  I want to remember.  Please.  Please, James.”

James gives up on teasing.  He’s too far gone now, himself.  And he’s had eyes for John’s cock for so long now.  He climbs down, bending over John and taking him all in one brazen swallow.  John slaps the side of the house, arches his back and strains to thrust.  James hands hold him and struggles against it.  James sucks him done while his his fingers reach up to John.  John knows enough to start sucking.  James wouldn’t rush their first and only time together, leaving either of them with a painful memory.

He’s careful to stretch John while sucking and licking his cock, just enough to pull John to the edge but not enough to tip him over.  When he thinks John is finally ready, he sits up again.  He helps John turn to his side and lies down behind him, finding the stretched hole, the head of his cock catching before slipping in.  He wraps his arms around John and sucks hard on his neck while he sinks in to the root.

“Fuck,” whispers John.  “Yes…”  He reaches back, scratching the top of James’s head with his bitten nails.  “Yes,” he says moving his hips.  James holds his leg up and they come together in perfect timing.

The slick drag of skin, the heat of their bodies, the cool of night air.  James cements it all his mind, a memory he’ll hate losing. 

John moans, louder and louder with every slap of skin.  The thrusting rocks their bodies up the bench, John’s hair falling over side.

James grabs two handfuls and holds John still as his hips work, slamming into John with so much ease.  John rolls over and lets him, they rock the bench with hectic thumping against the side of the house.  James can’t imagine Thomas sleeping through, but knowing him, he’ll give them their privacy.  Not knowing this is altogether new, and not standard fare between them.

John’s face, screwed up from pain or ecstasy or both.  James finds himself coming too soon, but John is not far behind him, coming between their bodies in thick ropes.  James falls forward, leaning heavily on John’s back.

“Get off.”

“We just did.”

John laughs, “Get off me.  And clean up.  I have …”

“You have to go.”

“Aye, Captain.  … I have to leave.”

“Say I’ll see you again, anyway.  If ever you need anything…”

“No, James.  I’m not bringing any trouble to your doorstep.  You’ve earned your rest.

“John, you’re overthinking it.” says James petting his stomach, “Say yes.”

John turns in his arms and gives him a small smile, “Aye Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Why is John Portuguese now? Because they went everywhere and I’m thinking the next story can delve more into a super tragic backstory that hops from place to place and teaches a boy to lie smoothly and speak many languages and never ever say his real name.


End file.
